A Gift from the Gods
by jmh1
Summary: 262AC: The year of Brandon Stark's birth. Much to Rickard and Lyarra Stark's surprised, Brandon isn't the only one born that day. Rated T for now, but may become M later.
1. Rickard I

_**RICKARD I**_

Rickard Stark was pacing outside his wife's chambers. Despite his protestations, Maester Walys and Raya Glover had ushered him out. Apparently the birthing chamber was no place for a man, other than a maester. He'd argued that he didn't care about tradition, that Lyarra was his wife and she was giving birth to his firstborn child, and there was no legitimate reason why he couldn't be at her side. It had been Raya's husband Jon, one of his closest friends, who managed to convince him to leave.

"Trust me, you don't want to be in there. Hearing it is bad enough," he'd said.

He'd certainly been right about that. It was strange to hear his wife scream as she was. She was known throughout the North as the She-Wolf of Winterfell – as fierce as her mother, a clanswoman from the mountains, but with a gentle soul like her aunts, Berena and Alysanne Stark.

"This is why I haven't married," Halys Hornwood, another of Rickard's close friends, said with a chuckle.

"Yet you have no brothers and no cousins. Who will inherit the Hornwood if you have no children?" Jon asked. The oldest of the three, he was always the most level-headed and practical.

Halys just shrugged. "If Berena doesn't marry a Lord or his heir, her children could take the Hornwood name."

Jon looked to Rickard for support. "I heard that Lord Manderly's brother is looking for a husband for his daughter," he said non-committedly. He stopped paces and turn to look at Jon. "Does it usually take this long?" he asked.

"The Manderly girl's what? Three and ten?" Halys exclaimed, clearly not impressed with Rickard half-hearted suggestion.

"And you're yet to see your twentieth nameday, good-brother. You never had a problem with me marrying your sister when I was the age you are now and she just four and ten," Jon said sharply. "It didn't take this long with Alys or Galbart, though I remember Maester Donnel commenting that Galbart came unusually quickly. My father once told me that the first always takes longer though."

The momentary silence following Jon's comment was broken by a cry not made by any woman grown. A cry that could only have been made by Rickard's firstborn child.

"He's crying. That's a good thing, right?" Rickard asked. Lyarra had been adamant that the child she was carrying would be a boy.

"Raya always said so," Jon said.

The door opened, and Jon's wife appeared, a well-wrapped bundle in her arms. "Lord Stark, may I present to you your son and heir, Brandon Stark," she said. It was strange to hear her speak to him so formally, with her being one of his wife's closest friends, and the wife of Jon and sister of Halys, but the presentation of a new babe to its father was a formal affair, no matter who present the child. Raya placed Brandon in his arms. He and Lyarra had decided on the names Brandon, Eddard and Lyanna for their children not long after they were married, and any that came after that would be decided at the time.

"Is Lyarra alright?" he asked Raya hesitantly. It was customary for a mother to present her child to her husband personally, especially the firstborn son, though this custom was foregone if there were complication.

Raya winced as Lyarra screamed again. "Your Maester says there's another babe on its way."

"Twins?" Jon asked. "Shouldn't the Maester have been able to tell that she was carrying twins? Maester Donnel knew with Alys and her brother."

A sad look flashed across Raya's face. She and Jon didn't often speak about their daughter's stillborn twin. Raya had been devastated when the babe didn't survive, feeling like she had failed to provide her husband with an heir. It hadn't helped that she had two miscarriages the following year. "Maester Walys is as surprised as we are," she said. "I should go back in."

Rickard sat on one of the chairs outside Lyarra's chambers. A chair he hadn't sat in since he first heard her scream. He looked down at his baby boy. Brandon may have only just been born, but he already had the Stark look about him, with his dark hair and grey eyes.

"And that is why you should marry," Jon said to Halys, a wide grin splitting his face. "There is no better feeling than meeting your child for the first time."

Rickard looked up to see Halys roll his eyes. "Why do I get the impression that the two of you are japing at my expense?"

Halys laughed. "Jon isn't, though I absolutely am," he said.

"Be careful Hal," Rickard said, "or you may find yourself not invited to return to Winterfell until you find yourself a wife."

Halys feigned hurt. "You wouldn't," he gasped. When no response was forthcoming, he continued. "Oh, my lord, how you wound me!"

Rickard didn't deign to respond to the Lord of the Hornwood's dramatics, but Jon snorted.

"Well, I'm glad I amuse someone," Halys grumbled.

Lyarra screamed again from inside the birthing chamber. "How is it that one look at a babe makes you so easily forget all the pain your wife goes through to bring it into the world?" he asked.

"Because there is nothing in this world purer or more innocent than a newborn child," Jon answered.

Another cry could be heard, the cry of another babe, and Rickard stood up. After a couple of moments, Raya opened the door again. "You can come in now. Maester Walys was a little concerned when this little one refused to cry, but he says he's completely healthy."

"Another boy?" Rickard asked.

"Yes, Rickard, another boy. Lyarra is waiting for you," she said with a smile.

There was an empty chair by Lyarra's bed that he sat in. "My lord, may I present to you your son," his wife said.

"Eddard?" Rickard said.

Lyarra shook her head. "I know we agreed our second sun would be called Eddard, but he doesn't look like one to me," she said.

Rickard looked at the babe in the wife's arms. He had the same dark hair as Brandon, but he had green eyes the colour of the sea and darker skin. He had only a few vague memories of his grandmother, but he did recall that she had similarly green eyes. He also remembered that her mother's mother had been Dornish, a Gargalen from Salt Shore, he thought.

"You're right," he said. "He gets his looks from my grandmother. What shall we call him?"

"Your grandmother? Which one?" Lyarra asked frowning. He'd forgotten that she'd only ever known his grandmother from his mother's side, Lyra Locke.

"My father's," he said. "Melantha Blackwood. I wish my father still lived. I remember how much he loved her. He'd have liked to meet him, and Brandon. Both my parents would."

His wife had a sad smile. "I think I know what to call him, though it isn't a name I've heard before. I just hear a voice whisper it in my head when I look in his eyes. Perseus."

"It suits him," Rickard said.

"Maester Walys was so surprised when he realised there was another babe on the way. He kept saying how he'd checked on Brandon's progress just last week, and that he was absolutely sure there had been only one babe. As soon as he was sure that he was healthy, he hurried off to consult his books," Lyarra said, making him chuckle. As he supposed should be expected from a Maester, Walys was the kind of man who like to understand everything around him. The fact that he might have missed the fact that Lyarra was carrying twins would rankle, and he would need to find an explanation.

"You said you heard a voice whispering his name in your head?" Rickard said. Lyarra nodded slowly, evidently wondering where he was going. "What if you didn't carry him?"

"What are you saying?" Lyarra asked.

"Maybe he's a gift from the gods."


	2. Lyarra I

_**LYARRA I**_

"Why now?" she asked. "House Stark has existed for thousands of years. My mother once told me that if the First King wasn't Garth Greenhand or the man buried under the Great Barrow, then he was probably a Stark. When I said that House Stark was founded by Bran the Builder, she said that he was the one that founded the dynasty, but the family was one of those that came across the Arm of Dorne. So why would the Old Gods wait until now to gives us such a blessing?"

Her children had been born a little less than a month earlier, and in a week they would be hosting the Lords of the North for a celebration of their birth. Umbers, Karstarks and Mormonts would arrive from the North, Flint's would come from Widow's Watch and Flint's Finger, even Lord Reed would make the journey from Greywater Watch. Edwyle Stark had been a popular man, and her husband had made a point of visiting as many of his vassal's keeps as he could during his youth. The entire North wanted to meet their newborn heir, and rumours about Perseus being a gift from the gods had spread. To their surprise, they had received congratulations via raven from Jaehaerys II in King's Landing, as well as from Steffon Baratheon, the young Lord of Storm's End and Jon Arryn, the Lord the Eyrie. Lord Baratheon had even suggested that Brandon and his own soon-to-be-born heir foster together. Lyarra had put a quick stop to that, believing that the heir to the North should be fostered with a Northern vassal, a suggestion that could be an insult to Lord Paramount of another of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I don't know, Lyarra," Rickard sighed, looking up from the response to Lord Baratheon he was in the process of carefully wording. "But I can't deny what's in front of me. Maester Walys' confusion is evidence enough for me that there was something unusual about the birth. Not to mention you heard a voice whispering his name and that he shows physical traits that haven't been seen in the Stark line since they were introduced. My father was all Stark, I'm all Stark, you're all Flint and Brandon has both in him. From what little I remember of my grandmother, she didn't even have the Dornish colouring of her own grandmother. I've been praying for answers on a daily basis, but the gods don't answer me."

"That's my point. The gods can't give us an answer, yet they've given us this gift. I understand why you think that, and to be honest, I think I agree with you. Just, why?"

Before Rickard could answer, there was a knock at the door. "Enter," he said.

Rodrik Cassel, their captain of the guard, entered Rickard's solar. "My lord, my lady, sorry to interrupt, but banners are approaching form the North. Flint's, Liddle's and Norrey's I'm told."

"Thank you, Rodrik, we'll be down shortly," Rickard said.

Lyarra smiled. "My mother's here," she said.

"Aye, we'd better get down to the gate sharpish. I may be Lord of Winterfell, but that won't stop her from giving me a good tongue-lashing if I'm not there to greet her with bread and salt," her husband said.

Lyarra laughed. "You know, I might just dawdle only so I can see that. It never gets old."

It was only ten minutes before the mountain clansmen trotted through the gates on their hardy garrons. Lyarra smiled when she saw her mother riding at the head of the party. Lyarra's cousin Torghen rode at her side.

"The Stark," Torghen said gruffly. The mountain clans were a quarrelsome lot, but all were loyal to their liege lord, who they called 'The Stark'.

"The Flint," Rickard said in response. It had taken her mother's influence so stop Rickard from referring to the clan chiefs as lords. Just as they called him 'The Stark' they were known to themselves as 'The Flint' or 'The Wull'. Rickard turned his face to look at her mother. "Goodmother," he acknowledge. Two more garrons walked up to stand by Torghen Flint. One was ridden by Cregan Liddle, the other by Brandon Norrey.

"The Stark," they said in turn.

"The Liddle, The Norrey," Rickard responded. "If you would all follow me to the Great Hall, we have bread and salt prepared." There was no formal custom required for the extension of guest right, just the offer of food, typically bread and salt. No special words.

Lyarra's mother and the clan chiefs dismounted their garron's. The men followed Rickard into the keep but her mother pulled her aside. "I am family, I have no need of guest right," she said. "I would see my grandsons, though."

Lyarra smiled and embraced her mother. The woman had not changed at all since the last time they'd seen each other. "It's good to see you again, mother," she said.

"And you, daughter. I'm sorry I couldn't be here for the birth. I had to stop my idiot of a nephew from starting a new feud with the Burleys and the Knotts. I think I prevented it, though you will not see them under the same roof as a Flint before the decade is out." Arya Stark, born a Flint of the Mountains: as blunt as ever.

She lead her mother to the Great Keep, where the family kept their residences, and up the stairs to the twins' nursery, where Berena Hornwood was looking over them.

"My ladies," she curtsied, before making to leave.

"You can stay, Berena. I'd like you to meet my mother, Arya of the Flints of the Mountains. Mother, this is Jon Glover's good-sister, Berena Hornwood. Her brother Halys is a good friend of Rickard," she said.

"It's lovely to meet you, Lady Arya," Berena said, curtsying again.

"My dear, there is no need cursty nor call me 'lady'. My daughter and myself may have both married Starks, but as Lyarra said, I am a Flint of the Mountains, and we don't go by such titles," Arya said. Stern, but not unkind, as always.

"Of course, my… Arya," Berena said.

"My Arya?" Arya said with a smile. "I have not been called that since my dear husband died."

Berena immediately flushed bright red.

"Don't worry, Berena, she's like that with everyone. Go and find your sister and ask about the time my mother first met Rickard. That should make you feel better," she said. Berena nodded quickly and dashed out of the room. "Did you have to mother? The poor girl has only seen ten name days."

"I am sorry, daughter. I sometimes forget the effect I can have," her mother said. "Now which one is this?" she asked, picking Brandon up from his crib.

Lyarra rolled her eyes. Her mother knew damn well the effect her sharp tongue could cause. "That is Brandon, he is the older of the two, and already the more boisterous."

"He looks like a Stark, but I can see some of the Flint in him too," her mother said.

"Rickard said the same thing, though to be honest, I only see the Stark," she said,

"You see that's because you are so disgustingly in love with your husband. You only have eyes for him. I was the same with you and Branda when you were little. All I saw was my dear Rodrik. Would that he were here now. He would be so proud of you," she said.

"Really?" she said. She had many fond memories of her father, but he had died on the Stepstones during the War of the Ninepenny Kings two years earlier.

"Of course he would, my dear. He was proud of everything you and Branda did. He would spoil your children rotten if he were here," Arya said.

Lyarra could easily believe that. He had doted on her and her sister as children, and she could imagine that he would only find his grandchildren more precious.

"So, the younger one," Arya continued, the sentimental moment apparently over, "is he the 'gift from the gods' I've been hearing about?"

"His name is Perseus. I don't know how that rumour has spread, I don't believe Rickard and I have ever spoken of it around others," she picked her younger son up as she spoke.

"Perseus is not a northern name," her mother commented.

"Look at him. I challenge you to find a more fitting name," she said.

Her mother place Brandon back in his crib and took Perseus – or Percy, as she'd began affectionately calling him – from her arms. His eyes fluttered open, and her mother began to rock him gently.

"Don't worry mother, he probably won't cry. He's a quiet one," she said. "Percy, this is your grandmother."

Her mother went to tickle him under the chin, but he grabbed her finger and pulled making her chuckle. Percy may be littler and quieter than his older brother Bran, but he still had a strong grip. The door to the nursery opened, and her cousin filled the doorway. Torghen Flint was a big man. Easily six and half feet tall and almost as wide, he made her tall husband look small in comparison. He was certainly not fat though. Food was hard won in the mountains, and few clansmen could be described as fat. Her cousin's size was all muscle and furs. Winter was drawing to a close, but it was still cold, especially in the northern mountains. Her dark-haired, wild-bearded kinsman had yet to remove his furs since arriving in Winterfell.

"The Stark said I could see the little lords," he said.

"Of course, cousin. They are your kin after all. She did not know her mother's family all that well. Arya Flint was unusual in the amount of time she spent out of the mountains. Most clansmen only came down for important events such as the Harvest Feast, the funeral of a Lord of Winterfell, or the birth of the heir to Winterfell. Or, of course, for war – though only if the North itself was under threat. No clansmen had fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. The rest of their time, they spent in their mountain halls, herding their goats, breeding their garrons and playing out their petty quarrels. She went over the introductions of her son's again. This time, Brandon also woke up and began pulling on Torghen's beard, illiciting a booming laugh, which made Brandon cry. When he started crying, Torghen panicked and thrust her son back into her arms. The man could probably face down a bear without batting an eye, but put a screaming baby in front of him and he was lost. She thought it may a good ploy to deal with some of the more boisterous Northern Lords who would be visiting Winterfell for the celebreation.


	3. Jon I

**A/N: So I realised I forgot to do a disclaimer on the previous two chapter so here it is now. All bar one character belong to GRRM, and Percy belongs to Rick Riordan. Not even sure If I can truly claim the OCs since I haven't created any Houses, and have no intention of doing so.**

_**JON I**_

Jon rode beside his father, Harald Umber, Lord of Last Hearth. They were travelling down the Kingsroad to Winterfell to meet their future Liege Lord, Brandon Stark. Jon didn't really see the point, since they'd begun preparations to leave the same day that they received the raven that brought the news of the birth. His father said it was essential, however, so they started riding south the following day.

"We'll clear the Wolfswood later today, son," his father said.

"Tell me again why we going all the way to Winterfell to meet a babe who won't remember us from one day to the next," he complained. He much preferred training to wield a sword. His uncle Mors served as master-at-arms at Last Hearth, and had promised Jon that he could begin to practice with a greatsword soon.

"Because it's expected of us, Jon" his father said. "Besides, the birth of a Stark is always a cause for celebration, you'll understand when you get to know them."

Jon could not understand what could possibly be so great about one family, but said no more on the matter. His father, and his father before him, were steadfastly loyal to the Starks, and it was expected of him to be the same.

His colt, Thunder, shied to the right. Jon frowned. Thunder may have been young, but he did not shy easily. He looked around for the cause, but saw no reason. A moment later he heard a rustle coming from the forest to the left, followed by a bellow. Why a bear would think it a good idea to attack a large convoy of men he could not fathom, but there was no mistaking that noise. His father must have heard the noise as well because before Jon couild say anything, Harald Umber called a halt and began shouting orders to the men to stand ready.

"Stay back, Jon," he said to him. Jon tried to protest but his father cut him off. "There will come a day when you take down a bear single-handedly. But you are only ten namedays old, Jon, and that day is not today. Now stay. Back."

Harald Umber did not often use his commander's tone on his family, but it was effective at keeping Jon in line. No sooner had he manoeuvred Thunder to stand behind the lines of his father's men, then the bear came charging out of the forest. It was a large one, though he'd seen Umber men return from a hunt with larger carcasses before. It did however, have a large, bloody, claw mark across its face. It must have lost a fight with a larger, stronger bear somewhere nearby and was fleeing from its victorious opponent. It wasn't attacking the armed contingent, it merely didn't care that it was there. The bear may have been strong, and fuelled by fear, but it was no match for fifty armed northern men. Archers put ten arrows in it before reached the Kingsroad. Already weakened, it did not last long against the spear of his father's cousin, Osric Lake. Before the beast went down though, Jon heard the shriek of a horse and a series of bellowed swear words. His father came up to him a moment later.

"Jon, you're the fastest rider we have," he began. Umber's were not known for their horsemanship – they made far better infantrymen when it came to war. Jon was still small enough that a horse could run faster for longer with him riding than one of his father's men. "I need you to swap Thunder for one of the spare horses and ride fast to Winterfell. Take a banner, and show it to any innkeep you pass and they should give you a new horse. I need you to fetch the Maester from Winterfell. Osric's horse crushed his leg as it fell."

"What about one of the Wolfswood clans, surely their halls would be nearer?" Jon said.

"Aye, quite possibly, but their halls are well hidden, and none of us know the forest well enough, so it'll have to be Winterfell," his father said.

Jon nodded. He certainly wouldn't know where to find the hall of one of the clans. He exchanged Thunder for one of the spare horses, took a spare banner from their flag bearer, and began riding fast down the Kingsroad.

He passed a few startled looking smallfolk on his way. Inns were very frequent along the Kingsroad north of Winterfell, so he frequently had to slow the horse he was riding to a canter or a trot so as to not lame it or exhaust it to the point of risking injury or even death. Announcing who he was, showing the banner was usually enough for the innkeeps he did meet to agree to swap his horse, with a silver coin for their troubles. Only once did he have to threaten an innkeep with the wrath of House Umber should he refuse to give him a fresh horse. That man did not receive a silver coin for his troubles.

It took two days for the walls of Winterfell to come into sight, and when they did he raised his banner. The problem was, he was not a banner-bearer, so he had to just hold it above his head by a corner and let it flap about in the wind. As he neared the East Gate of Winterfell at a full gallop, he saw men moving about on the walls. One of them shouted at another to open the gates, much to his relief. He slowed the horse down to a trot as he passed through the gate, where a man and woman stood waiting for him.

"Lord Stark?" he asked, panting. He was nearly as winded as his horse, and absolutely exhausted – he'd had little sleep since he'd left his father's men.

"Yes," the man said. He looked like he was about to say more, but Jon, not caring about courtesy in this situation started talking again.

"Father… sent me," he said. "Lord Lake is injured… needs a maester… bear… horse crushed… his leg…"

Lord Stark nodded. "Rodrik, send for Walys and organise a group of men to ride north along the Kingsroad to meet the Umber party," he barked. "You must be Jon Umber, Lord Harald's boy," he said. Jon nodded. "My wife will take you to a room in the Guest House where you can sleep. I'll arrange to have bread and salt brought to you."

"Thank you, my Lord," Jon said, as he dismounted his horse, stumbling as he hit the ground. He felt an arm around him, and looked up to see the woman who been stood with Lord Stark, presumably Lady Stark, holding him up. He smiled in gratitude, but found himself unable to form the words to thank her.

Jon woke up in an unfamiliar room. For a moment he was confused – the last he remembered they'd been travelling south from Last Hearth to Winterfell. Then he remembered what happened with the bear and cousin Osric. Head pounding, he sat up with a groan, to see a girl sitting by his bed.

"Lord Umber, you're awake," she said.

"Lord Umber is my father," he said. "Who are you?"

"I'm Berena Hornwood, sorry to have surprised you, but Lady Stark thought someone should keep an eye on you," she said.

"I'm Jon. It's nice to meet you, Lady Berena," he said, remembering the courtesies taught to him by his mother. "How long was I asleep?"

"Almost two days," Berena said. She was a pretty girl, with long curly brown hair and mossy green eyes. He judged that she was of an age with him. "The maester rode out with an escort about an hour after you arrived. You must have been so tired. My brother told me you rode for near a week without stopping."

If Jon remembered correctly, Berena was the younger sister of the current Lord of the Hornwood, Halys. He smiled. "I'm afraid Lord Hornwood was exaggerating, my lady. It was only two days and I did stop, though only for an hour while I convinced an innkeep to exchange my horse for a fresh one."

The girl blushed, probably thinking he thought her foolish. He didn't though. His uncles had tricked him into embarrassing himself many times before.

"You're still very brave though, my lord," she said. "I would not want to ride out on my own for two days."

"Thank you, my lady," he said, "though I'm sure you would do the same if you needed to."

"I'm going to put them out of their misery," he heard someone say, before an older woman entered the room, followed by Lady Stark.

"Jon Umber," the older woman said, "my good-son is very impressed with you."

Jon blinked, not knowing who the woman was. "Thank you, my lady," he said.

"Lord Jon, this is my mother, Arya Flint," Lady Stark said.

"Yes, yes, now everyone knows who everyone else is. We came to inform Berena that we will be having our midday meal shortly, and since you are awake, Jon Umber, you will accompany us. Lords Stark, Glover, Hornwood, Cerwyn and Tallhart are waiting on us in the Great Hall," Arya Flint said, before turning and exiting the room.

Lady Stark sighed. "You'll have to forgive my mother, Lord Jon. As you may know, the mountain clans do not hold to the same standards of etiquette as the rest of us Lords and Ladies. There is a bath waiting for you already. I fear my mother would have simply thrown you in if you hadn't been awake. I will send a servant to show you the Great Hall when you are ready."

**A/N: So that's my take on a 10-year old Greatjon. I don't know whether he'll have any more chapters in this story but I had the idea of giving him this one and decided to roll with it. Next chapter will (probably) time skip a few years.**


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